Celebrated Scars
by orliNkeira
Summary: DracoHermione. Her future is shattered in one night. But it does not end there. It torments her, but forgetting is impossible. But in the end, does she really regret it all, regardless of all the pain? Review.
1. Default Chapter

The door to the dark room opened slowly and quietly, with nothing more than a faint creep as the figure cast a long shadow on the floor. Hermione Granger dragged her aching feet on the floor, glad that the bed was made and warm. On special occasions, she certainly did feel grateful that the S.P.E.W had not been entirely too successful. It was nice to be taken care of without having to worry all the time. 

Her head spun wildly and her eyes stung from the dry air. She felt terrible, especially in her head. It was only the first day of school and she was falling sick. She sighed wearily.

She felt really lousy, a nagging reminder in her head that as Head Girl, it wasn't right for her to be absent, especially when things were always chaotic on the first day. The muggle-born witch threw herself down on the soft covers, her throbbing head calming slightly. Pale orange light shone on her face and she cursed softly, irritated. Her hands fumbled clumsily for her wand in her pocket and she pointed it weakly in the direction of the curtains.

"Shutiosa."

The red velvet drapes fell neatly side-by-side, shutting out the evening sky and any other light that might possibly pierce its way through. Hermione groaned as shouts and laughter and doors slamming rang from below. They were _so_ noisy. Suddenly she understood why the Professors were always so particular about silence, making a mental note to tighten the rules on keeping quiet. She raised her wand wearily to the ceiling, muttering a silence spell, to sound off any other sound from outside.

Finally the room was quiet and pitch black. Hermione turned on her side and rested her head on the pillows, sighing contentedly. It didn't take long for her to fall asleep. 

The Welcome Feast was starting and Dumbledore had finished his usual speech, one that students had long familiarized themselves with after the third year.

It was going to be a long year.

………………………………………

Draco shifted his iron gray eyes back and forth the four tables, running his eyes down Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. It was getting boring; Dumbledore, that muggle-loving fool, was still droning on, about the rules and regulations at Hogwarts. It wasn't as if everyone except the naïve first years didn't know. **If** Dumbledore even had any eyes, he'd see all the slouching figures, glazed eyes and inappropriate body language. He could clearly see Russell getting cozy with that Summer Vingiene over to one corner of the Slytherin table. He could also see extremely well what exactly Russell was doing with his hands to get her so giggly. His hand had disappeared neatly under her shirt and from all the movement under there; he knew that they would be _terribly_ busy that night.

He smirked, letting his eyes gaze over to the Gryffindor table. It was most unfortunate that Potty and the Weasel were still there. It would be nice to have one of them killed in their many adventures they were constantly getting themselves into. It wouldn't be hard either; judging from how Weasel was quite incapable of walking straight, constantly tripping over his disgustingly large feet. He glanced scathingly at them, one with the wild black mop of hair, and the other with the revolting red hair.

He averted his gaze smoothly onto Professor Dumbledore as he heard his cue.

"Now, it is my pleasure to introduce to you our Head Boy this year. Our Head Girl, Miss Hermione Granger, unfortunately, is not feeling well. She will be introduced to you when she is in better spirits. Mister Draco Malfoy, is our Head Boy for Hogwarts this year."

Draco curled his thin lips in what looked vaguely like a smirk and smile. Standing up arrogantly, he brushed out his long black robes, standing up tall and straight.

Malfoy cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Good evening fellow students. It is good to be back in Hogwarts, what with another year of Qudditch matches," he paused dramatically, lingering his hard stare on Potty, who stared back, distaste in his black eyes. Draco sneered slightly. _Ignorant fools_, he thought spitefully. He would give that Potty something to scream about. Just he wait and see. He cut off his gaze, and continued in a drawling voice.

"Tests and exams and unexpected surprises. As Head Boy, I, together with, Hermione," he proceeded to call her, deciding it was best not to call her Granger in such a _public_ speech, pronouncing her name stiffly with distain coloring his words.

It was just simply entertaining to see how incapable Granger was. Falling sick on the first day of the term most definitely went down in his books as lazy, incapable and weak. All which he already knew she was. It only pleased him more seeing how she unknowingly had proven his point.

"Will gladly assist anyone of you with any problems or difficulties. Feel free to approach either one of us. We hope that you will enjoy this school year very much." Draco finished blandly. How Granger had ever persuaded him into going along with her little speech he would never know.

He nodded his head slightly and settled back rigidly in his seat, calmly taking a sip from his goblet, his gaze now fixed at the main doors, the sound of the cutlery clattering and excited chattering drowned out in his head.

The Welcome Feast was always such a bore.

………………………………………………….

Draco led the first year Slytherins to the dungeons below, where they looked, awestruck. The dungeons were impressive he had to admit. It was perpetually cold, but if one were to touch the walls, they would find that it was surprisingly warm. The stonewalls were bewitched with a warm current flowing through it. The current ranged from lukewarm to scalding hot. Certain times, a most unfortunate person would lean against a wall and burn their skins raw and red.

It was most enjoyable to witness the scene, but that rarely happened now. Only the thick first years would actually _lean against_ the walls. But even the chance of a first year doing so was rare. Slytherins were full of pride and it certainly wouldn't do anyone's personal image any good to be seen squealing and screaming like a pig about to be slaughtered.

The dungeons were dark and vast, with high ceilings and expansive corridors. Grand chandeliers layered with dust hung from the ceilings above. They were luminescent, like frosted bowls, holding enchanted fireballs. Faint orange light shone dimly on the walls, casting lurking shadows and fleeting dark shapes with each flicker.  Majestic scrawling and menacing cravings of snakes filled the stonewalls from top to bottom. The large curls and swirls of odd-looking letters and shapes were the inscriptions of Salazar Slytherin in written Parceltongue. The Slytherins took immense pride in it and anyone caught in acts of vandalism would have a nasty little time. The Seventh years **made** sure of it.

 A few had a calm and haughty demeanor, a look of scorn on their faces as they regarded the rest of the Slytherins. His lips stretched out in a thin smile, glad to see that a few of the more _esteemed _Purebloods like himself had joined Slytherin.

He reached the portrait in front of the entrance and held up one hand. The low chatter behind me came to a stop and there was a slight shuttling of feet to get in order.

Draco smirked. They **would **do well to fear him and know their place. He liked having this authority. The only bad part about it was having to share it with that Mudblood Granger.

"This is the door to the Slytherin common room. The password is Serpentsortia." He paused as the portrait swung outwards silently.

"When Professor Snape changes the password, you will be informed duly. Otherwise, it would **not **do well for anyone of you, to leak out our password." Malfoy drawled, an edge in his voice, eyeing the new students carefully.

They nodded seriously, a glimmer of fear appearing in their eyes as he continued.

"I do not want any disgusting Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or even worse, _Gryffindor_, to find their way in there. We can assure you that things will _not_ be pleasant for that certain culprit." Draco stopped dramatically; making sure his point had been taken.

It had.

"Now," he entered the dark green common room with the plush, ornate furniture, the trail of students following him. "The boys dorm is down the stairs to your right, the first door you see. For the girls, it is up the stairs on the left, the second door to the right. Your things are already there."

He nodded slightly and turned abruptly on his heel, striding briskly to the other end of the common room as he spotted the rest of the students in the Seventh year.

His eyes gleamed as he reached the group of tall boys lounging and slouching about on the couch.

"Draco. You know, it might not be such a bad thing for you and Granger to share a common room. She's a stunner now. Not too bad you know, for a good shag." Blaise slurred, snickering softly.

Draco eyed him steely as he sat himself down on the chair, an amused twist on his lips.

"Honestly," Crabbe cut in, "She's grown up now. Tall, nice slender figure, hazel eyes. Long lashes…"

"Not to mention now that her hair's cut now. Not so bushy anymore. Long, wavy and curly." Blaise added, grinning manically.

He leaned back casually, running his long fingers along his wand. His eyes narrowed at what Blaise said. He hadn't really got a good look at Granger when he came into the train carriage. The only different thing he noticed was her hair. It wasn't wild and uncontrollable like before. Somehow she had managed to smoothen it and it fell in soft wavy curls.

He snorted, unnerved. It gave him the shivers to picture Granger on his bed, ready to shag him. Unless of course, he got a better look at her tomorrow and his opinion might change, but he hardly doubted it. 

"Your mother gave me this liquid, its for you to drink she says. Tonight." Goyle held up a skinny blue bottle, waving it in Draco's direction, shooting pointed looks of anticipation at Blaise and Crabbe.

Malfoy eyed the three of them suspiciously, raising an eyebrow quizzically. He took up the bottle, inspecting it carefully before staring at Goyle. Goyle had been on _close _terms with his father; he wouldn't dare pull off any funny business. Draco pulled out the tiny stopper, and tipped the contents inside his mouth unceremoniously.

It was cool and thick and tasted like berries, but smelled strongly of bark. Malfoy wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"What is this?" he spat repulsively.

There was no answer, and he was about to threaten him, his eyes narrowing dangerously when a strange feeling took over. He felt light-headed and there were no thoughts in his head. It was as though he was being frozen, but still alive. He could hear the noises from outside, seeing things, registering them, but he had no reaction, no sense of being. He was just a body, Draco's body, but not Draco Malfoy.

Then he heard a voice say, amidst loud rough laughter, "Go back to the Head dorm. Go into Granger's room and shag her."

There was uproar of coarse laughter as they watched a stunned-looking Draco Malfoy proceed from the room.

…………………………….


	2. 2

Hermione stirred in her sleep, mumbling softly. There were loud angry noises from outside her bedroom. He was so noisy, even the silence spell couldn't keep it out. She ran her fingers through her hair, brushing the stray ends away. There was only one other person who could be inside the Head dorm and that person was Malfoy. It perplexed and annoyed her a great deal that he couldn't just be sensible and let her rest. She hadn't done anything today to irk him. They had barely exchanged twenty words, beginning with, "What are you doing here, Mudblood?" and ending with "You amuse me Granger."

Hermione hid her head under the pillows, trying to go back to sleep, hoping that that prat would just shut up. Her headache was coming back with full force and his raving antics were not helping. She let out a cry of frustration and stuck her feet out from under the covers.

There was a severe look of annoyance on her face as she rubbed her eyes and struggled into her robe. The wizard clock beside her bed glowed blue for a moment. She groaned as she pulled open the door.

"For crying out loud Malfoy, it's twelve at night! What the hell do you want?!" Hermione shouted angrily at him.

He stopped banging on the door and stared at her for a second. There was a strange look in his gray eyes that she didn't like at all. It seemed like a thick coat of ice was coated over its gray color. It was hard and frozen.

She shuddered involuntarily, his gaze invoking chills down her spine. Hermione peered at him curiously, pulling her robe around her waist tighter instinctively. She felt a dire need to protect herself from him. Her mind scrambled furiously as to where her wand was and realizing it was over at the other bedside table, she backed into her room slightly. The darkness shrouded her partly, and she felt safer.

"What is it?" she questioned, steadying her voice.

He looked at her with glazed eyes, before a fire burned sharply in them and he rushed at her, pushing her to the ground.

He pinned her to the ground, shutting the door with a flick of his wand. Hermione screamed and struggled, kicking against him. She was tall, but he was even taller and much stronger. Malfoy clapped his hand to her mouth, silencing her screams. The muffled sounds escaping from her were desperate, and she was frightened beyond her wits. She always knew Malfoy was an insufferable prat and a bloody playboy, but what the hell was he trying to do!

She shrieked and streams of hot tears cascaded down her face as he tore off her robe, eyeing her hungrily. The ravenous fiery spirit in his eyes reminded her of a wolf and she wanted nothing more than to get away from him and curse and hex him into smithereens. By now he had removed his hand from her mouth and had started kissing her forcefully on her neck and lips.

"Malfoy…Malfoy…Stop it! Please! Stop!" Hermione sobbed uncontrollably, as his thin lips pressed hard against her mouth. Her heart twisted painfully, like someone was trying to wrench it out but it wouldn't budge. She was trapped.

In her mind it was a blank, only registering the savage grips on her body each time his hands came into contact with her skin.  His mouth traveled all over her body, his hands groping her everywhere. She hated what he was doing to her, she hated the way she was being pushed and squeezed about.

"Stop it!" she screamed helplessly, torrents of tears pouring down her face. She felt her pants being pulled off and the ripping sound of her T-shirt being torn apart. Hermione kicked at him wildly, wishing desperately that someone might hear and save her.

"No use Granger! You're all mine tonight!" Malfoy snarled sinisterly, proceeding to ravage her mouth with his.

She turned her head away, sobbing her heart out. She was almost bare to him now. _Why was he doing this?_ It was wrong, so wrong!

Hermione let out a petrified cry as she felt his fingers undoing her bra clasp.

"Don't do this. Don't do this!" she pleaded vainly through her tears. This couldn't be happening to her. _No!_ It couldn't! It only happened to other people, people in the news! Not her! _Not on the first day of school!_

She trembled furiously as Malfoy pulled away her bra, eyeing her body with lustful eyes. Looking at his expression as he eyed her, she felt ashamed, unclean, _contaminated_. She was _dirty_**.**

"Don't do this Malfoy!" she begged, fighting to loosen his hold on her, jostling under his arms.

He sneered at her evilly, taunting her, jerking her face to his by grabbing a fistful of hair. Hermione screamed in pain.

"It's no use Granger. You are _not_ getting away." He laughed madly and kicked at her legs and stomach. Her heart plummeted straight down with such intensity that she gasped weakly. The words cut in her mind, etched in permanent memory.  They rang out in her head, translating into, " No one is going to save you. You are at _his_ mercy, whether you like it or _not_." 

Hermione gave a shrill cry that seemed to echo from the very depths of her despair. A cry of resignation. Defeat. Darkness. **_Shame_**.

The next thing Hermione knew, Malfoy's face was swarming in blurry patches in front of her before she sank into black oblivion, as a white-knuckled fist came impacted on her face.

…………………………………….

It was eight in the morning, an hour past the student's wake up time. The sun was up; illuminating dark nooks and crannies, casting warm yellow light onto the soft grass, seeping through every crevice possible.

Most of the students were in the Great Hall, eating breakfast and chattering excitedly with their friends. There was plenty of "catching up" to do, and spreading about the news of how Lavender and Seamus had hooked up over the summer, along with Parvati and Jason Liverlocke from Ravenclaw. In addition to the other bits of news, like Dean Thomas's plan to organize a soccer team in Hogwarts and how Neville had mistakenly taken bobotuber pus instead of his cough potion and arrived in St. Mungos in a _pretty_ sight. Poor Neville sat forlornly at the breakfast table, limply swirling his milk around with his spoon, his round face going another deeper shade of pink.

Harry and Ron were seated at one end of the Gryffindor table, occasionally looking towards the door for a sign of Hermione. It was rather unusual for her to come down late, especially on the second day of school, the first day of classes. She would be extremely chirpy and cheery, comparing timetables with anyone who would listen. Hermione would bug everyone being a "bright happy sunflower in the midst of wilting plants" as Ron put it, but it felt strange not to hear her happy voice over the usual spread of cereal, milk, eggs and sausages.

"Ron," Harry asked worriedly, "You don't suppose that Hermione, that something happened to her?"

"Whastchalt shoesayd?" came Ron, his reply quite indecipherable, considering that much of the space in his mouth was chock full with bacon and toast. An unsightly bit of bacon rind flew forth from his mouth as Ron spewed in a most undignified manner.

Harry scowled, looking exasperated and waited impatiently for Ron to finish, tapping his fingers irritably on the wooden surface.

 Ron, taking an unusual amount of time to swallow, washed his food down with a big swig from his goblet before turning his attention to Harry, who was now looking severely annoyed.

"**I said** Ron, that you don't think something happened to Hermione, do you? It isn't like her to be down so late. Not when there are schedules to compare you know."

Ron looked perplexed for a moment, before his features relaxed into a calm, assured expression.

"Nah. Have you forgotten that Hermione's sick? Probably sleeping in, that lucky thing. We can visit her after lunch. Should be okay with Mcgonagall I suppose." He answered.

A look of remembrance crossed Harry's face and he grinned, settling back to a full plate of bacon, sausages and eggs. They ate in silence, with Ron reading the Daily Prophet as Pig dropped it on his lap, and Harry staring blankly into space, thinking about Qudditch strategies. Being Qudditch captain most definitely put Qudditch in a new light, finally understanding why Oliver Wood had stressed himself to no end for it.

Harry smiled, old memories of the Gryffindor Qudditch team playing happily in his mind. It hadn't been the same since Fred, George, Angelina, Alicia, Katie and Oliver graduated from Hogwarts. He didn't miss them though, for he saw them all quite frequently during the holidays. With them here, the Qudditch team was at its best, united and superbly good.

 As it was to be expected, Fred and Angelina, together with Katie and Oliver had gotten married. George and Alicia had recently gotten engaged. He grinned widely, recalling how different Oliver was as a father when they had visited Katie in St. Mungos. He was fussing about, carrying his twin girls about protectively, muttering how words couldn't describe his relief when Katie had given birth to girls, not boys, for she had intended on naming them Fred and George respectively.

Ron's voice disrupted his thoughts.

"Harry! Look, its Ferret boy. I wonder how he and Hermione got along yesterday." Ron whispered across the table, dislike clearly written on his face.

He laughed and replied. "Yeah, me too. They really have a knack for driving each other up the wall. Well, at least Draco does." He added, wrinkling his nose slightly as he remembered that Ferret boy was like stone. Hard to crack, with no emotions expressed. It was a pity really, that so far the number of times in their six years at Hogwarts, they had only managed to infuriate Malfoy a grand number of five times. While on his side, the number of times he had gotten on their backs was probably more than the number of his fingers and toes combined.

"I'm going to ask Hermione how things went last night. Merlin, it must have been a painful night for her, with him there." Ron muttered softly to himself, his words soon fading out of hearing range as he immersed himself in the Daily Prophet again.

……………..

Thanks for your reviews and hoped you liked this chapter. Basically I wrote this story for some fun, so thanks very much.


	3. 3

Hermione cracked her eyes open, wincing as a sharp pain seared through her head and eyelid. She groaned groggily. Feebly, she lifted her hand to her face, her eyes widening greatly in shock as she felt the swollen bumps, stinging scratches and an unfamiliar dried patch on her face that was cracking in flakes. She brought her hand in front of her eyes to see and gasped in horror when she saw that those dried flakes were blood. Hers probably.

Hermione shifted slightly, the muscles in her body aching painfully as she did so. Then she realized that she was on the floor. She looked down at the wooden grains on the polished floorboards, her mind panicking furiously, causing her head to throb terrifically.

_What was she doing sprawled on the floor?_ _Hadn't she been in bed last night? Where was she?_

Thoughts of a similar note running madly in her head. She racked her brains, thinking hard, trying to recall what had happened. A sudden cold draught blew in from an unknown opening and she shivered, large goose bumps forming rapidly on her body, on her stomach, legs, arms, everywhere.

_Everywhere?_

She glanced down at herself sharply, letting out a weak cry of shock and horror. She wasn't wearing any clothes! There she was stark bare, sprawled upon some floor, and, her cry filling with more terror and fear, covered with large purplish bruises everywhere. She stood up abruptly, not feeling the piercing wave of pain rippling throughout her body, noticing more and more such bruises along with long ugly scratches as her eyes traveled down. There were tiny odd lumps on her neck; her chest was covered with large splotches of purplish green colors, round indentations along her torso and waist that resembled finger imprints; as though someone had pressed their hands firmly on her. The same horrendous sores and bruises trailed on the insides of her thigh, down her leg and more on her arms. She didn't even want to look in the mirror to see how she looked like with everything put together, forgetting about the extremely visible ones on her face.

Bit by bit, as she stared rendered speechless in her helplessness and loss, snippets of what took place last night popped into her memory.

_"It's no use Granger, you're not getting away."_

_Mad laughter. Angry prods on her body. Rough painful squeezes on her flesh. _

_"Qusilieum." _

_Darkness. Helplessness. Fear._

_" No one is going to save you. You are at his mercy, whether you like it or not."  _

_Nasty grabbing of her hair. The ripping sound of cloth. Frightened squeals. Shouts for help._

_"Stop it!" "Don't do this!"_

_The soft click of her bra clasp. Cold, hard eyes. Wolves, vultures. Hunger._

_"Malfoy…Malfoy…Stop it!"_

_Draco Malfoy. _

**Draco Malfoy.**

_Draco Malfoy had raped her._

_Draco Malfoy raped her last night. _

In her room, she realized as she looked wildly around.

Malfoy, the _Slytherin_.

Malfoy, her _enemy_.

Malfoy, the one person she **_hated_**, the one person she **_couldn't stand_**, the one person who made her life **_miserable_**.

The person who called her Mudblood.

The person who was Head Boy.

The one very person whom she shared a dorm with, whom she would see **_everyday_,** for the rest of the **_year_**.

These horrific realizations exploded inside her head and hit her with such force it was as though her head had split open. Telling her that it was all true. It _wasn't_ a nightmare. **_The Head Boy had raped her in her own school, on the first day_**_. _

Hermione collapsed onto the floor, taking in the sight of her bra, undergarments, robe and pajamas strewn across her bedroom floor.

An unholy shriek of despair and disbelief escaped from her throat. Sobs soon racked her lungs, monsoons of hot raging tears pouring down her face. She was bent over, her face in her hands, drawing in long rattling breaths of air. The salty tears washed away the dried cakes of blood, leaving pale red lines down her face.

She sobbed and sobbed. Her heart felt like it was pierced with a sharp knife. Her life, her future was shattered within a day. Her dignity and self-respect had vanished without a trace. There was nothing left.

Only pain, scars and memories.


	4. 4

A group of sleazy-looking boys hunched about a dark corner near the dungeons, shooting furtive glances around occasionally, their eyes alert and quick for any sign of movement.

"So," a soft voice hissed, "I wonder how was it. We can't ask dear Draco can we?"

"_Of course_. Don't you _know_ what his father will do to us?" a thick burly voice whispered precariously.

The rest of the boys nodded gravely in recognition before another question was asked.

"So, if the potion worked correctly, Draco woke up to find himself in his room, in his bedclothes, with no memory of what took place last night?"

"_Yess_." Came the impatient hissing in reply.

"What did I tell you? The Tallem Imperio potion is pre-arranged. We had set the location and details specifically in the charm box before we dropped it in the cauldron. Draco will _never_ know what happened and he won't know a thing. Unless of course we tell him, which," he emphasized with a threatening glare, "we _won't_. And Granger most definitely won't tell him or anyone. She'll be too ashamed. Trust me. Besides, we placed a Sealing charm in the charm box, so even if she wants to spill all, she **_can't_**. She can only talk about it to the person who _drank_ the Tallem Imperio potion. But, she will only be able to talk to him, **_if _**she can feel no hatred for him.  And why would she tell dear old _Malfoy_, whom she hates and relive the humiliating event to the person who raped her?" The burly voice came, an evident note of enthusiasm and malice in his voice.

"Wicked. Serves Granger right. Remember what she did last year? Exposed us all to Mcgonagall, almost got us _expelled_. That **bitch**. What's more from her worst enemy. Lets hope Draco gave it to her **_real good_**."

They snickered viciously at that last word, before scattering off to their respective classes as the bell rang.

………………………………..

_The Tallem Imperio potion is a highly hypnotic potion. Its main ingredient is spiderbark, which explains for its strong smell of bark. When brewed, the Tallem Imperio potion is a pale blue, slightly silver liquid. Strangely, the Tallem Imperio potion tastes of sour milk, but adding a teaspoon of an ideal fruit can change its taste. The effects of the Tallem Imperio potion will not be affected in any way when the desired fruit is added. _

_The Tallem Imperio potion is very potent and once drunk, it cannot be reversed. Any direct order given to a person under this spell will be done automatically. Once done, the Tallem Imperio potion will act accordingly to the directions and details in the charm box and the said individual will wake up with no remembrance of the event._

_ It is considered illegal by the Ministry of Magic, due to the severity of the potion and its results. The Ministry of Magic views it related to the Imperius curse. The Imperius curse is identified as Dark Magic and anyone found committing such an act will be sent to Azkaban immediately. Therefore, anyone caught in the act of persuading an individual to consume the potion will face the same charges. _

………………………….


	5. 5

Hermione whipped her head up sharply as she heard a loud firm knock on her door. Her swollen red eyes flew open in panic and despair.

"Miss Granger? Miss Granger? Are you there? Open up please."

Hermione gasped softly as the voice identified itself with that of Professor Mcgonagall's. She stood up in horror, turning her head frantically about her, noting the state her room was in. There was no way she was going to tell Professor Mcgonagall what had happened. She couldn't let her in, not now, especially in the physical state she was in, battered, bruised and scarred.

She scrambled around her room in a mad course, with no clear plan in mind as to deal with the problem presented to her now, at this untimely hour. Hermione let out a small whimper, at her wits end. Her mind had never worked to slowly, nor so clumsily before. It was heavy and thick and with each jolt of panic sent to her head, it throbbed nastily.

The knocks on her door became more firm and urgent and she knew that if she didn't do anything, Professor Mcgonagall would magically break her door down. Over her dead body would she allow such a thing to happen.

Just as the quick knocks and crisp questions colored with worry reached its climax, everything in her clouded mind seemed to piece together miraculously.

Hermione whirled about her room, bending down sharply to pick up her scattered pieces of nightclothes, stuffing them unceremoniously under her bed. Straightening the bed sheets and covers, whipping them back in place, she cast a brisk spell, muttering at a fast pace, feeling the muscles in her body tensing up more.

"Eycanto Wanteilum!" It would allow Mcgonagall to see only the things that Hermione wanted her to see. Although at the present moment she couldn't see anything that seemed out of the ordinary, she wasn't about to take any chances. She, for one, knew how sharp the Professor's swift eyes were, having experienced it firsthand when she, Harry and Ron had stumbled upon her watch during their attempts to pry out information about countless intriguing mysteries or questions they had unfounded.

She hurried, her frazzled nerves on end, to the cosy warm common bathroom, which she shared with Malfoy. It was placed strategically _between_ their two bedrooms, which two doors leading to each respective room at either end of the spacious washing up area.

Thankful that she had her wand with her, she cast a rather powerful locking spell on both doors, her thumping heart decelerating greatly as she took in a deep breath of cool air, wincing only a bit as the heaving movement caused a harsh pain to shoot up her chest. Suddenly she remembered a key factor and hastily turned on the water taps in gleaming white tub just as a loud thud resounded from outside, indicating that Mcgonagall had barged her way through.

In her panicked rush to step into the tub, she slipped on a wet patch and banged her head hard on the white surface, landing in a curled up, foetus-like position. Hot tears of pain and helplessness stung her dry eyes. Hermione rubbed the growing lump on her head softly, crying bitterly. The cold water that had gradually warmed into hot warm water caused more such tears to stream down her face. Her whole body felt like it was on fire and she felt slightly nauseous from the different sensations from the cold, then hot water. The scratches and bruises dotted all over her skin felt inflamed.

However, the warm-colored tiles lining the walls and the dark oak floorboards, in addition to the fact that the rushing water was drowning out any sounds she was making that might cause Mcgonagall to raise her suspicions comforted her.

Surely enough, three frigid knocks were made upon the bathroom door.

"Miss Granger? Can you hear me? I must apologize for entering in that manner, but I did not see you at breakfast, neither was there any response from you. I understand that you are still not feeling well and you are excused from waking up past due time. However," she continued, in a strict but matronly voice, "I must insist that you visit Madame Pomfrey after your bath. The new school term has just begun and we can't afford to have our Head Girl ill." Professor Mcgonagall finished, relieved that she had gotten that over and done with. 

Hermione's eyes flew open in terror and fear as the Professor's words drifted through the door. She adjusted the taps so that the water flowed out in a less raging manner, before answering.

"I'm sorry Professor," she caught herself, steadying her voice, trying to quail the obvious tremble in her tone. "I, I was taking a bath and couldn't hear you. Don't worry; I'm feeling much, much better now. There is no need to see Madame Pomfrey. The long rest did some good. I'll be down for classes, as soon as I change." Hermione gulped, sincerely hoping that the rather alert mind of Professor Mcgonagall fell for that little speech, one that, hearing her voice echo off the walls of the bathroom, did not sound quite convincing.

Thankfully, the Professor had indeed fallen for her excuse, though not rested assured till after much exclamations and fervent protests from an "extremely, wonderfully well-rested and in the pink of health" Hermione Granger. Finally, she left her room, loosening the great big knot in Hermione's heart slightly.

Lying there in the bathtub, surrounded by rising steam and a faint white mist, she tried to register what had happened in the short span of dusk to dawn.  She already knew the basics of what happened; she had been brutally raped by a most detestable creature. But she didn't know what, how, or **_why_**. She sat there stonily, wondering why Malfoy had done so. He was reputed to be a player and an avid one at that. He had probably shagged half the female population in Slytherin, and would most likely move on to the next half, setting a wonderful record for himself and pump up that obnoxious ego and pride of his.

She shuddered at the thought of how his pale gray eyes looked that night, the burning, haunting intensity residing within. She curled up tighter, wrapping her arms around her protectively. More tears burned hot red paths down her colored face, and she struck out angrily at the water covering her. Hermione hit her battered arms against the clear water bitterly, the water only magnifying the horrific splotches on her arms. In a fit of rage and mixed emotions, she grabbed the bar of soap and started to scrub her skin furiously in short, coarse, swift strokes. She was dirty. There was dirt all over her. She scrubbed harder and harder, ignoring the stinging pain the soap caused when they entered her cuts. The water was tainted a pale red and a metallic scent of blood filtered the air. The dirt was **c**_onsuming_ her. **_She was dirt_**.


	6. 6

Hermione paused momentarily to glance down at herself. Her skin was raw and red and it was getting pruney. She had scrubbed so hard, part of her skin felt leathery and stung a little. She was so confused and angry; she couldn't understand why this had to happen to her, not when she had had so many hopes and dreams to achieve. She hated herself deeply. It wasn't her fault, she knew, but it was her body that had been raped, and _that_ dirt wouldn't let go of her, clinging everywhere in places she couldn't see. But she felt it creeping over her. Hermione lashed out angrily a last time, before she got up and began to dry herself. She drained the stained water in the tub, feeling a slight bit better to see it disappear down the tiny sinkhole, taking all the dirt with it.

She walked slowly to where her towel was, clutching it tenderly around her, hissing softly as the uneven surface of the blue terry cloth towel brushed against sore skin. Hermione stood in front of the oval mirror, staring at her reflection as she gently cleaned herself, wiping her tears dry every now and then.

She unlocked the doors, and stepped into her room. She found herself feeling intensely troubled and anxious. She didn't know how to hide the bruises and cuts. She didn't know any Medispells to magically heal them or to hide the colored masses completely. The bruises were at least easier to deal with; she could try and apply a concealment charm, a powerful one. She couldn't bear to have anyone ask her questions for she knew she would definitely break down and cry again. As it was, it was hard for her to stop crying once she got started. Suddenly, she remembered of a tube of ointment that her mum had placed in her trunk before she had left. She rushed to the polished wooden trunk and lifted its heavy cover open, flinging her things aside till she finally got her hands on the slim yellow tube. In addition, she spied a box of plasters and grabbed it gratefully.

Carefully, she applied it on each cut or scratch she could see, gritting her teeth in pain. Finishing up quickly, Hermione proceeded to stick on a plaster over each one, feeling satisfied that with her robes, no one would see the obvious long strips over her arms and legs. She glanced into the mirror and panicked once more. Her face! How would she cover it? For one thing, there was a long thin scratch on the left cheek, smack right in the middle of a purplish blue bruise. On the right side, slightly above her temple, was a fresh dark blue-black from slipping in the tub. She couldn't patch up her whole face! She gave a little scream, pacing up and down briskly. Deciding what was best, she said a concealment charm, pointing her wand to the bruises.

 It worked and she looked more like normal, but those patches on her face were a little discolored. She smoothed on ointment on the scratch and stuck on a plaster. She would just have to give an excuse for that. There was nothing more she could do, not being a Mediwitch or anything.

Then she randomly picked out a long black robe that was slightly bigger than her usual size. She got dressed quickly and pulled her wavy hair up in a ponytail, with a few resolute curls peeking out here and there. A flash of brilliance occurred to her and she grabbed the flesh-colored foundation and powder lying on her dresser, one of the few make-ups she owned. She smoothened out some of the liquid foundation with a steady hand as possible and brushed on the pinkish powder. She sighed resignedly, though feeling better now than she had all morning. She looked all right, and she would even go as far as to say that she looked positively healthy. The pink powder added a good healthy glow.

Hermione picked up her books and held them in the crook of her arm. She trembled for a moment, feeling very weak and she gripped her elbow with her other hand. She slung her back on her shoulder and reached gingerly for the brass doorknob.

She twisted it open and pulled back the door, before gasping loudly in shock, stumbling back into her room as she met face to face with the sneering glare of Draco Malfoy.


	7. 7

She cried out loudly as she landed on her bottom and smashed her elbow against the floor in a weak attempt to break her fall. She was breathing in short quick breaths, feeling dizzy and breathless. Locks of her honey brown hair fell in her face and she edged back into her room further as Malfoy smirked and stepped into her room, drawing closer and closer to her.

She wanted to scream her head off, vivid flashes of the night before rushing back to her all in once. She couldn't breathe and the scream was caught somewhere between her heart and throat. Her brown eyes flew open in fear and she whimpered softly, feeling extremely faint. She needed air.

Hermione could only look up and watch as Malfoy's tall frame bent down elegantly and balanced effortlessly on his heels. He brought his face nearer to hers, seeing her overly flushed face, wide eyes, partially open mouth and the trickle of sweat that was beginning to form on the edge of her forehead, staining her honey brown hair dark brown. As calm and cool as he was, he was slightly taken aback at the evident look of fear in her eyes. Hermione Granger had never ever been fearful of him. She was always the first one to stand up to him and insult him back, cursing and shouting. But he didn't let his surprise show; he was always one good at hiding his emotions. He could hear her struggled breathing and saw that she was trembling from head to foot. Her throat was tight and he could tell from her expression that she wanted to scream but couldn't.

"What do you want from me?" she whispered faintly, her eyelids lowering for a moment, as though she was about to pass out.

"Nothing Granger," Malfoy drawled, his usual cold demeanor returning to him as soon as he heard her question. "Professor Mcgonagall pulled me out of Potions to check on you. She was _worried_." He said, placing mock emphasis on "worried", as though it came as a huge shock that anyone would actually worry about her. Spite colored his words, displeased that he had to cut Potions to check on _her_. Not that he truly minded skipping it; he could easily pass Potions without batting an eyelid, but the fact that he had to go specially to check on Granger made him disgusted. She looked positively fine to him.

Malfoy stared placidly at her, waiting for her comeback, but there was none. He peered at her drawn, tight face carefully, though making sure he didn't look like he was actually curious.

She looked really terrible at the moment, though she did all the time, but this time, it was much worse. Going by her expression, her face naturally should have been pale and white, but instead it was pinkish. Malfoy took this time of silence, when she had her head turned away, eyes down, trying with a lot of effort to breathe, occasionally looking fearfully and defensively at him, to take a good look at her and _what_ was it that was _suddenly_ so attractive about her.

Her hair was much nicer, smooth, shiny and wavy, with mild curls. They were the same color as they had always been, honey brown. From her side view, he could see her long eyelashes and the intense liquid brown inside. Her features had softened smoothly, yet sharpened nicely. Her legs were tucked awkwardly under her, but as far as he could tell, she was quite slender and tall.

Malfoy didn't realize just how long he had focused on her and a hint of shock jumped into his gray eyes when she opened her mouth and questioned him.

"Whether or not I'm fine, I think that you would know best, wouldn't you?" her voice was soft and hushed, but there was a strong blend of hatred and detest, yet defeat in her tone. She turned her head to stare at him and for the briefest of moments; Malfoy thought he saw a questioning pleading look in her eyes that was directed at him.

"You wrong yourself too much Granger. I have **_never _**been one to concern myself over the welfare of a _Mudblood_." Malfoy snarled coldly, not sure if he was behaving like himself or reacting because of that look in her eyes.

He stood up rigidly, running his hand down his flowing black robes. Eyeing the crumpled form of the girl he had so constantly insulted and infuriated, he hissed darkly at her.

"I'm going back to lessons. You can tell Mcgonagall yourself that you're fine. I have no intention of wasting anymore of my time." Feeling thoroughly disgusted with her, he whipped around sharply and stalked out of her room.

Before he could get two steps out her door however, he heard fast angry footsteps behind him. Instinctively, he looked behind him and received a loud cutting slap from Hermione. His face stung sharply from the whip of her hand and burnt like chili and mint. There was no move from him to touch the inflicted spot. Dangerously slow, his iron gray eyes lifted up to meet those brown flashing ones of hers. 

He was enraged. How _dare_ she, that _mere_ Mudblood. He strode over to her, grabbed her chin with his hand and jerked her head up forcibly to look at him. She was leaning against the doorframe for support and breathing heavily.

She winced as his long, but strong finger pressed against her jawbone. Tears sprung to her eyes and she tried to blink them away. She couldn't cry in front of him. It was just adding salt to her wounds and to his ego. Hermione glowered defiantly at him.

_So what if you did rape me Malfoy? That doesn't make me your little personal slave._ The words recited in her head and she opened her mouth to say them, but found that the words, for some strange, unnatural reason, couldn't come out. Instead, she started to choke as though being suffocated by her words. Malfoy didn't release the vice-like grip on her, only bringing her face up closer to his.

"You'll be sorry you ever did that, Granger. _Don't_ mess with me. Mudblood." He whispered poisonously. Hermione knew she was in a precarious situation but she didn't care anymore. She hated him. Blood rushed through her veins at a furious speed and couldn't bring herself to care anymore.

"I already am." She replied bitterly in clipped tones, getting over her choking fit fast.

Malfoy gave her one last piercing, vindictive stare before he tore of his grip and stalked off down the stairs to the main door, his black robes billowing behind him in a majestic trail.

Hermione gazed at him as he walked out the door and shut it with a loud slam, her chin still quivering from his firm hold. Silent tears spilled down her face and she immediately brushed them away, for fear of washing off the make up she had on. Walking back to her room to retrieve her books she re did her hair and tried to smile.

Laughing softly at her unconvincing expression in the mirror, she left the room and walked out of the Head dorm, to the Potions lessons that were waiting for her.

…………………………..

Thanks for the reviews. Hope you like this.


	8. 8

Hermione arrived back at the Head dorm and lay down on the couch wearily, her legs hanging over on one side and her books and bag strewn on the low wooden coffee table.

She massaged her temples, groaning softly when she accidentally hit on her bruise, jarring her aching head even more. Today had gone fairly smoothly and was better than she had expected it to be. Apart from a few worried questions after her health, no one had quite suspected anything. Hermione let out a long sigh of relief that Harry and Ron had not seen through the make up or seen any of the other bruises. The only suspenseful part of the day was when they had questioned her over the plaster on the side of her face.

She had tried not to fidget and look shifty and uncomfortable, for she knew that they would both know she was lying. Instead, she had laughed and grinned at them, telling them how she had forgotten to cut her nails and unknowingly scratched her face in her sleep. They had fallen for it.

She had gone to see Professor Mcgonagall in the afternoon, to reassure her that she was fine, standing there perfectly before her. She wanted to get her off her back and had intentionally eaten more than usual during lunch under the circumstances that the Professor was watching her closely.

Without warning, the door opened with a heavy creak and the shiny silver hair of Malfoy came to light. He looked at her lying tiredly upon the couch, noticing her eye bags under the light.

"I really never expected to see you here Granger. Lazing about, messing up the room. Not doing your homework too. As you have clearly forgotten Mudblood, this room does not only belong to you. It belongs to me as well. Please don't do anything to dirty or stain it with your filthy hands." Malfoy sneered at her coolly.

Hermione blazed, her eyes narrowing hatefully at him.

"You son-of-a-bitch. You don't _deserve_ to be here." She spat cruelly, sitting up abruptly.

In a second, Malfoy had whipped out his wand and stuck it in her throat, his iron-gray eyes burning. She stared back at him, unnerved but with the same hatred and defiant look in her eyes.

"Go on Malfoy. Kill me, come on, hex me. What _more_ do you want to do with me till you're satisfied?" Hermione shot back bitterly with a hollow laugh.

It only served to have his wand pushed further into her throat. Hermione was certain that another bruise was slowly, but surely forming there.

"Watch yourself Granger. I would hate to see our Head Girl blown up into bloody pieces, which is just what you deserve, you bitch." Malfoy hissed softly and tauntingly, the words so soft they seemed to be unspoken, but like a threat that hung ominously in the room, stifling her.

"I must have failed to do so then, since you've already been successful in making my life a living hell. I do wonder whether you feel any shame, or at least some guilt for doing so. But I guess not isn't it? You're inhuman as it is already." She bit back, her eyes glistening with tears threatening to overflow.

Hermione looked away, brushing the back of her hand coarsely against her eyes, before grabbing the wand and pushing it away from her throat. She felt the hard tip cut a fresh red trail on her neck, but hardly could bring herself to care. What was one more scratch when she already had dozens? She got off the couch, kneeling down quickly to pick up her books and bag and ran off to the solitude of her dark room.

Malfoy stared up at her retreating, fleeing back, a complex swirl of emotions rising up within him. All he knew was that he felt dangerous at that moment. He found himself unable to read his emotions clearly and sensed the urgent need to do so immediately. Like the starting of a hurricane, the hot and cold airs were simple elements, but when they met and fused together as one, it was a sure recipe for danger, destruction and undesirable circumstances and results.

His emotions were creeping and swimming in him, mingling and escaping swiftly past each other just as they were close to meeting, testing the boundaries. Malfoy was hot and yet icy calm. He was rifled up by her insult on his mother, hurt, upset and protective. But her strange outburst had confused him and was thrust upon him so suddenly he had stumbled back. A tiny wisp of pity had unearthed itself within him and scorn had unleashed its venomous head, while shock and surprise had foiled his plans.

He gripped the slim wand in his hand tightly, so firm that the skin on his knuckles stretched to a bone white. Malfoy felt blood rush to his head with immense pressure and drew in a quick breath, hissing slightly. His eyes roamed over the warm surroundings madly. The plush deep red couches, dark oak wood furniture, sparkling from its polish, the pretty ornaments sitting about carefully. Hermione had placed them there. They were hers.

An angry flash shot through his eyes and he picked up a tiny porcelain figure of a fairy placed on the square coffee table. Malfoy curled his lips up in malice as he flung the tiny object across the room, where it shattered into a million bright shards as it hit with a thud against the stonewall.

With an angry tug at his cloak, he stormed up to his room and slammed it shut, the sound echoing throughout the common room below.

This time, they both had their backs turned against each other. Like the sun and the moon, they lived in close proximities, but never met. Or at least, in their case, never wanted to meet.

………………………………

I hope you like this. Thanks for the reviews.


	9. 9

The warm yellow sun streamed into Hermione's room and shone softly upon her sleeping features. She stirred under her thick covers, trying to open her eyes, but winced and refrained from doing so when she painfully discovered that prying open her eyes when they were puffy and had eye wax over it was quite impossible.

She had cried herself to sleep again. It wasn't her first time, and it was definitely not going to be her last. Last night had been excruciating. It killed her each time she thought of the next eleven or so months she would have to spend with him in this dorm.

Gently rubbing her eyes, she finally managed to open them. The aches on her body felt considerably better and the scratches were starting to close and heal. She tried to smile. She had to be brave, for herself, for Harry and Ron, for the teachers and more importantly, for the school. Today Professor Dumbledore was going to formally introduce her to the whole school. She wanted to look her best and confident.

Shuffling to the other end of her room, she picked up the robes she had chosen the night before and walked absently to the bathroom. Hermione grasped the doorknob, turned it a few times till she gave up, realizing that Malfoy was using it.

Sighing tiredly, she flopped back on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest. Seconds later, the bathroom door in her room opened and the cutting figure of Malfoy along with a puff of steam emerged, his hair slicked back, robes neatly pressed and proper.

Not showing any sign of acknowledgement, Hermione continued to hug herself, closing her eyes. Suddenly she could not bring herself to care, to muster up feelings of resentment and hatred that would only take up more of her energy. Despite having slept the whole night, her body felt dragged down by the weight of exhaustion that had settled in her bones.

"What are you doing? I'm sure you know which door leads to your room and which leads to mine. Isn't like you to be so careless Malfoy." She murmured, her voice emotionless, her eyes still shut. Her quiet remark seemed to barely penetrate through the steam and waning heat from the bathroom, but she had noticed that after five minutes, she still had not heard any footsteps leading out of her room. Malfoy was still standing there like a stone statue.

"It is like you to be so careless Granger. Gone and gotten yourself some nasty nicks and bruises have we?" he replied snidely, spying some of them on her legs from underneath her pajama bottoms. "Though I couldn't expect any less from a pitiful creature like you." He added brusquely.

"Yes. I suppose I _am_ pitiful, aren't I?" she whispered softly, so soft, had Malfoy not have sharp hearing, he would not had caught it. Hermione remained in her position, not doing anything of the sort to hide those bruises nor deny it. Her eyes opened slowly and she stared blankly ahead as the words left her mouth. Uncurling her legs, Hermione walked into the bathroom, locking the door softly behind her. She barely looked at his rigid figure as she brushed past him, lost in a strange world of her own.

Malfoy stood stock still momentarily, confounded by her strange words and behavior. That had come so sudden and unexpectedly, it wasn't the desired reaction he had been expecting from her. Shaking his head slightly, he left her room. He was angry, but the cause of his anger couldn't be defined, which fueled his fury even further.

He just couldn't understand her.

When Hermione came out from the bathroom, her hair was down and slightly damp. It was tied into a loose half-ponytail and a few wet curls stuck to her face, flushed pink from the warm bath. She grinned weakly as she looked herself over in the mirror and approved.

As she was about to open the portrait door, thankful once more that Malfoy had long left for breakfast without her, tiny little glints and gleams of light caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Curious as to see what it was, she stepped precariously to the table, the source of the mysterious sparkling lights.

Hermione clenched her fists tightly, trying to control the overwhelming hatred and anger she felt then, as the mysterious objects of light revealed itself to be the dismal fragments of a porcelain fairy ornament her Grandmother had painted for her.

Spotting a large broken chunk that was the top half of the fairy, she grabbed it and stormed out of the room to the Great Hall. She was determined to set a certain silver haired, gray-eyed student in his place once and for all. She fumed at the thought of him. How could he be so despicable!

Malfoy turned his head to the side, glancing over his shoulder when he saw Crabbe raise his eyebrows pointedly at him, nodding in a direction that was clearly behind him. He raised his eyebrows calmly, but felt a tinge of irritation creeping up upon him. An evidently fuming Mudblood was stalking towards him, hell bent on beating the guts out of him, judging from her dark looks. Her head was bent ever so slightly, her long wavy hair streaming out behind her. Her eyes were narrowed dangerously, her mouth set in a thin line, her cheeks a crimson red. If looks could kill, he was certain he would have died an excruciating death then and there.

He kept his calm however; raising his eyebrows higher, in a mock look of surprise, though the last thing he wanted to see now was a pathetic freak of a Mudblood. Just as she reached his side in a flurry of loud heavy footfalls, he smoothly turned his head back down to his plate of breakfast and held up his goblet for a drink.

Anger rose up in him again, as her hand slammed down on his, pining it and his goblet on the table, splashing the pale orange juice everywhere. His eyes shot up to meet hers and she thrust a sharp pointy object at his face.

He glared at her, recognizing right away what it was and what she was here for. The little Mudblood's muggle toy. He was now fully aware that the entire hall of students had gone completely silent and was staring fervently at the scene unfolding before their eyes.

"How many more times, do you want to hurt me, mess with me or ruin my life?" she started in a strangled voice, gripping his hand harder with hers, digging her nails into the palm of his hand.

"This," she went on in that same gritted, pained voice, "this, was the last Christmas present that my Grandmother gave to me. She hand-painted it herself. You can never, ever repair it or get a new one."

She paused and drew in a deep breath, before going on.

"You're disgusting Malfoy. More despicable than I ever thought you could be. You are a worthless spoilt, incorrigible, pathetic excuse for a person."

There was a loud but lonely applause over at the Griffendor table and he averted his gaze there, glaring fiercely at Ron.

She turned on her heels sharply, tears smarting in her eyes, but was jerked back when Malfoy grabbed her hand, twisting it painfully, and the intensity on his face unutterable.

Hermione gasped in pain as his strong lean fingers pressed down on her bone. She lifted her other hand, ready to slap him. But he had stunning reflexes, and caught her hand by the wrist before it met his cheek.

She shouted and cried out to him, cursing him, spiting him.

"Let me go you son-of-a-bitch!"

He pulled her down quickly so that they were now at eye-level.

"I told you never to call me that again Mudblood. Looks like you have forgotten so soon."

"Yes, I have. I wouldn't want to keep anything that you say in my memory. I would be sick." She spat angrily at him, clearly consumed in her rage.

He picked up his goblet and flung the remaining juice at her, drenching her slightly. His silver eyes gleamed dangerously, they were hard and cold. An audible gasp was heard from the audience around but he was too worked up to bother about them. _Let them stare._

With her one hand now free from his strong hold, Hermione brushed off the juice dripping from her face and gave him a mighty resounding slap. She was gritting her teeth tightly, seething with rage and disbelief at his arrogance and dare.

But they had both forgotten about the Professors sitting at the end of the Hall, who had been viewing everything with shock, stunned at such unexpected behaviour.

By now, Professor Snape and Professor Mcgonagall had marched their way over to them and each took hold of their student, pulling them apart.

"Miss Granger, I am thoroughly disappointed in you. Your behaviour is unexpected and atrocious! As Head Girl I would have expected better conduct. You can be assured that your mother will be hearing from us!" The Professor announced grimly, her mouth set in a thin firm line.

"As will be yours too, Mister Malfoy. I want it clear that nothing of the sort will ever take place again, be it in your dormitory or in full view of the students." Professor Snape added in a soft dangerous tone.

Together, they pushed their way through the crowds of stunned students, dragging along the two Heads, one slumped in defeat and tiredness, the other stiff and sturdy with a fire in his eyes.

………………………………………………………………….

Sorry I have not updated sooner. Hope you like this. Thanks for all your reviews.


End file.
